


test drive

by gdgdbaby



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Reality, F/F, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 13:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gdgdbaby/pseuds/gdgdbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison's fast learning that Lydia is basically a one-woman force of nature, and not nearly as airheaded as she likes making herself out to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	test drive

**Author's Note:**

> sleepover set during season 1 episode 1, written for advent. originally posted at [livejournal](http://gdgdbaby.livejournal.com/101869.html).

"Best friends are supposed to have sleepovers all the time," Lydia decides during Allison's second day in Beacon Hills. By the end of this particular conversation, she's called both her parents and Allison's father and has it all planned out: dinner and a movie and then spending the night at Lydia's house, after which she'd drive both of them to school the next morning.

Allison's fast learning that Lydia is basically a one-woman force of nature, and not nearly as airheaded as she likes making herself out to be. It's just as well that Allison's along for the ride—and it's a nice change of pace to have someone take to her so quickly after years of shallow acquaintances borne from moving somewhere new every year.

"How does _The Notebook_ sound?" Lydia asks, fingers flying over the screen of her phone.

"Do people still watch that?" Allison says casually, and pretends not to notice the shrewd glance Lydia sends her way. "I mean—it's fine, but—"

" _Kill Bill_ or _Death Proof_?" she interrupts.

Allison raises her eyebrows. "Either's good, but if I had to choose—the latter, probably."

"That's decided then," Lydia says brightly, flipping her hair back and slamming her locker door shut. "I have it on DVD, we won't even have to stop by Blockbuster. I'll see you in chemistry?"

"Yes?" is all she can fit in edgewise before Jackson's sweeping Lydia away for an undoubtedly important conversation about the party on Friday.

 

 

Allison's dad drops her off at Lydia's house at six. She spends about five minutes outside gaping up at the sheer vastness of the place until Lydia opens the front door and barks out a quick "What are you doing just standing there for?" before ushering her inside.

Dinner is courtesy of Mrs. Martin, who makes the best cream of mushroom soup that Allison's ever tasted. It ends up being a multi-course affair: after the soup there's chicken potpie and fluffy mashed potatoes and avocado salad. For dessert, Lydia brings out some truly excellent apple pie à la mode. Even the popcorn at Lydia's tastes better than usual, probably because it's super fancy kettle corn with tossed sea salt, or something, and because every time Mike shows up on the flat-screen television, Lydia starts tossing pieces of it at his smug face.

"I love Tarantino," Allison says, when the final credits finish rolling and they're both fishing for the remains of the popcorn at the bottom of the bowl.

"I love Tracie Thoms," Lydia replies, chewing thoughtfully on a piece. "I think that's how my parents rationalized it when they found out their fourteen-year-old baby girl wanted _Death Proof_ for Christmas. They also got me _The Devil Wears Prada_."

Allison laughs. "Good movie."

Prada tries to stick his nose in the bowl and Lydia pushes him off her lap, stands and stretches. "Do you wanna shower first?"

"Oh, it's fine, I usually shower in the mornings, after jogging," Allison says.

Lydia rolls her eyes. "You sports people. Be right back, keep Prada out of the popcorn."

 

 

She comes out half an hour later through a plume of shower steam, her hair wrapped up in a towel and matching flower-print pajamas on. Allison's amusement must show on her face because Lydia looks down at herself and shakes her head. "I told you about my parents, didn't I?"

"Maybe ask them for a regular nightgown this Christmas?" Allison suggests. She pulls a tank top and flannel pajama bottoms out of her bag.

"Bathroom's yours," Lydia says, waving a hand.

Allison changes and brushes her teeth, wipes a hand over the fogged-up glass so she can put her contacts in. Lydia's laid out both their sleeping bags on the floor when she steps out again, Prada curled up in her basket at the foot of the bed.

"So, it's your second day here," Lydia says without preamble, eyes sparkling. "Any boys?"

Allison tilts her head, hugs a pillow to her chest. "Scott asked me out to the party on Friday."

"Who's Scott?"

It takes Allison a minute to realize the expression Lydia's wearing is genuine confusion. "This guy in my econ class," she says. "But—what about you? How's Jackson?"

Lydia wrinkles her nose. "He broke up with me today."

"What? I'm so sorry."

"It happens every other week, he'll get over it," Lydia says, shrugging. "Boys, you know."

"Not really," Allison admits, flushing a little when Lydia purses her lips. "I mean—I move around a lot. My parents are always on business. I never really get a chance to get to know many people before I have to leave."

"But you've been kissed before, right?" Lydia prompts.

Allison pretends to think about it and snorts at the aghast look that flickers across Lydia's face. "If you count a really terrible one from a freckly kid named William in fifth grade, when we were living in England."

"That's alright," she says, sighing. "My first kiss was pretty bad, too."

"My second kiss was a lot better," Allison offers. "It was in freshman year, New York City. Her name was Annabelle."

"Oh," Lydia says, regarding Allison with a kind of undisguised interest that makes her stomach do a weird flip-flop type thing. "I've never kissed a girl."

And anything Allison could say to _that_ opening would probably sound either overwhelmingly cheesy or more than a bit creepy, so she just reaches over and goes for it—slides a hand beneath the towel on Lydia's head to tangle in her wet hair, slants her mouth over Lydia's, which tastes like mint toothpaste, cool and sharp. The towel slides off and pools over Allison's lap.

Lydia's holding Allison's wrist when she pulls back, two spots of color high on her cheeks. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, contemplative.

"That's what it's like," Allison says, making a valiant effort to keep her voice even.

"You're a way better kisser than Jackson is," Lydia says crossly, and Allison grins.

"I'll be sure to tell him that the next time we see each other," she says. "Maybe I can give him some pointers."

"For some reason, I don't think he'd appreciate that," Lydia replies, rolling her eyes, and doesn't protest when Allison leans in again.


End file.
